


Head over Heels

by musvitten



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (somewhat idk), (sorta) - Freeform, AKA the cradler becomes the cradled, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Concussions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Head Injury, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Keith (Voltron), Sickfic, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, inaccurate descriptions of concussions, reverse bonding moment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-03-31 17:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13980231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musvitten/pseuds/musvitten
Summary: “Hey,” comes the voice gently, almost as if he’s learned from his former mistake, “Up here.”Keith blinks a few times before he’s able to let his eyes stay open. He’s rewarded with a smile that has his next exhale come out perhaps more windy than expected.-Keith falls in more ways than one. Now he just has to deal with the consequences





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no see! Both of us have been pretty busy with uni and other projects, but we're finally back!! We needed a get-away fic with some light-hearted fluff due to all the heavy angst in our other wips, and so this fic came to be! (because apparently concussions are our kind of fluff lmao)
> 
> This was supposed to be a 10K oneshot, but to no one's surprise we can't control ourselves, so we'll probably hit around 3-5 chapters depending on whether or not we can reign ourselves in (spoiler: Anything can happen). We've already sketched most of the plot out but just to be safe we won't promise you any regular updates - this is secondary to the other projects we're working on after all!
> 
> Shoutout to Becks (and the anonymous sea cow that somehow made it onto our google doc) for beta reading!! You're the best ♥
> 
> -  
>  **Small warning:** Keith pukes in this chapter (it's briefly mentioned but not really delved into - you can easily skip it and it's really obvious when it happens)

There are a lot of things Keith doesn’t know: 

For example - how, exactly 79 years before the day Keith was born, Lenin called for the October Revolution that would, inevitably, lead to the deposition of the provisional government and, after five years of civil war, the establishment of the Soviet Union. That the reason why he failed his geography test in seventh grade wasn’t because he hadn’t been prepared, but rather because his teacher couldn’t read his crow’s feet. That ties aren’t supposed to feel like they’re strangling him half to death every time he has to strain his neck, and that the reason he thinks so is because he doesn’t know how to tie them properly. That David Bowie and Bob Dylan aren’t actually the same person, but, in fact, two separate artists who happen to have very similar acronyms. That, in some alternative reality far away from here, he’s a legendary defender of the universe piloting a red robot lion. That the reason his throat starts tingling after drinking red soda is not because of the carbon dioxide nor because it’s supposed to, but rather because he’s allergic to the food colorant E120.

What Keith also doesn’t know is that the next step he’s about to take will send him tumbling down a flare of stairs, where he will hit his head so hard against the curb that he’s gonna pass out for all of three minutes and twenty-six seconds. 

Neither does he know that this coincidental circumstance will turn his life 360 degrees around and is, to some extent, not coincidental at all.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

_“A…-- o… -ay?”_

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Keith blinks.

The world around him is nothing but blurry dots, his sight focusing and unfocusing repeatedly like a lense trying to detect shapes in a poorly lit room. Except he isn’t in a poorly lit room, but somewhere outside in the middle of the day, the sun right above him and beading down on his poor, unsuspecting eyes, overloading his senses. He’s blinded by the light shining down on him, and for a second he sees nothing but white.

And then, suddenly, blue.

“Hey… _Hey,_ look at me.”

He tries to find the source of the voice, his gaze flickering from side to side erratically. That’s when the headache hits him.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he groans pathetically, immediately closing his eyes against the pounding in his skull-

“Oh nonono _nono,_ don’t!” the voice calls, and he winces from the way the voice leaves a shrill sound ringing in his ear. He feels hands cupping his face, slapping at his cheeks until he peeks one sour eye open. “Stay a- yeah. Yeah, that’s more like it.”

Now that the harsh light is somewhat subdued with his eyes narrowed into small slits, he is able to see more clearly. He becomes distinctly aware of the boy hunched over his head, shielding him from the worst of the sun.

Blue. Not from the sky, he realizes, but from the eyes looking down upon him.

“Wh…-” Keith pauses, frowning slightly. His voice feels unused. He tries once again, straining to sound coherent, “What…?”

Luckily, the guy seems to know what Keith’s trying to say, because he smiles reassuringly and squeezes his shoulder as if he’s trying to calm him down.

“You slipped down the stairs. I mean, you were pretty lucky, since your body took most of the fall, but then you hit your head pretty badly.” The guy winces sympathetically as if reliving the moment himself. 

A second voice joins in somewhere to his right, and for a moment the guy’s gaze shifts away from him. Keith’s momentarily distracted by the long stretch of neck above him. He’s brought back when the guy looks down at him again, though. 

“My friend just called an ambulance. So, uh, don’t worry. Actually, it’d be really nice if you could just… lie still.” 

The guy (Keith has the awkward realization that he has no idea what his name is) (is he supposed to know his name?) shifts into a more comfortable position, probably from relief now that he’s actually awake. Keith knows because he can feel his head lifting from the effort and-

Keith’s… 

Wait.

Belatedly, as he starts to regain his bearings, he realizes that his head is, in fact, lying in the guy’s lap.

_What._

“I _said,_ ” the guy punctuates, struggling with keeping Keith in place as he fights to get out of his grip, “Lie. _Still!_ ”

And while Keith is trying to do the exact opposite, the world starts spinning so queezingly that he’s startled into compliance. Keith can feel the thud his head makes against the guy’s lap ripple through his whole body. 

His eyes struggle to find rest as they keep swiveling around, and for one unpleasant second, his vision becomes fuzzy at the edges. He fights to keep his eyes open as he heaves for air, dizziness overcoming him.

“You alright?”

His stomach starts churning uncomfortably.

It takes several tries, but eventually he manages to grit out, “I have to puke.”

“You have to…” For a moment it’s like he hasn’t heard right, his voice faltering hesitantly into a question. Then, finally, his eyes widen in panic. _Click._ “ _Oh._ Shit, right.” 

He barely makes it in time before Keith feels his insides squeezing, and he coughs violently. It has his skull throbbing painfully for each cough, and if not for the guiding hands he probably would’ve faceplanted right into the mess below him.

“Great,” he hears the owner of said hands chant above him, “Greatgreatgreat.”

It’s not great. To be honest, it’s pretty gross.

His whole body slumps as he’s directed back down to his former position, head cradled securely against the other’s lap.

He’s distinctly aware of someone else talking, and for a moment the guy cradling his head looks up and away from Keith. He feels his eyes close on instinct, his eyelids heavy as soon as the attention is directed elsewhere. He doesn’t get to rest his eyes for long, though, before he feels a hand nudge against the side of his face.

“Hey,” comes the voice gently, almost as if he’s learned from his former mistake, “Up here.”

Keith blinks a few times before he’s able to let his eyes stay open. He’s rewarded with a smile that has his next exhale come out perhaps more windy than expected.

…

It’s…

_Ah._

It’s a strangely intimate position they’re sitting in. Given the fact they’re complete strangers, that is.

“Now,” he says then, as if he can’t sense the inner turmoil that’s going on inside Keith’s head at the moment, “Can you tell me what your name is?”

It takes him a second longer than it should.

“Keith.”

He’s not sure whether it’s because of the hit to his head or because his brain decided to short circuit. 

Decidedly, he doesn’t linger on that thought.

“Keith,” the guy repeats, his smile tilting slightly at the corner of his lips as if it’s a name he’s familiar with, “Can you tell me where we are?”

He has to fight his instinct to turn his head to look around. Instead he lets his gaze wander around and tries to ignore how the movement leaves an uncomfortable strain in his eye sockets. His gaze falls on the stairs, then trails towards the trees and sidewalk. He tries to ignore the small crowd that watches from afar, not exactly interfering but still too curious to look away.

Slowly, it starts to come back to him.

“Outside campus,” he answers, voice only slightly slurred. “Close to… _library?_ ”

It sounds more like he’s saying _labwewy,_ but the guy seems to get it. He nods encouragingly. 

“Were you heading towards the library?”

“Mmhmm…” 

It’s better not to use his voice, he figures. The hum he gives in reply echoes painfully in his head, though, like a wasp buzzing right into his ear.

The guy tilts his head in a thoughtful manner that has Keith’s eyes land on the slope of his nose. From this position, he can’t help but notice the length of it. It’s not that it’s long-long, just… It’s noticeable. Longer than average. 

Not that it’s a bad thing. To be fair, it’s an alright nose. Kind of cute. Definitely not unattractive.

_Geez._ He needs to get a grip on himself.

“Uh… Keith?”

He knows he’s been zoning out again when he hears a nervous chuckle above him. Knows because he’s startled when he finds blue eyes settled on him once again.

How does he still not know his name?

“Sorry,” he mumbles, averting his gaze self-consciously because his gaze feels too intense, “Just tired.”

The frown he receives in return isn’t without concern.

“No, it’s fine. Just… try to stay awake for a little longer, okay? The ambulance will be here soon.” 

Keith wonders if he’s supposed to say something. At least it feels like it from the way the guy continues to study him. His eyebrows are drawn together as if something’s weighing on his mind. Keith waits patiently, keeps himself from being distracted by focusing on the blue narrowed down on him. 

Then, finally, he speaks, “Is there anyone we can call? Just so you won’t have to go alone.”

Keith opens his mouth to answer but then stalls because…

Technically, there’s Shiro. 

But Shiro’s in the middle of writing his thesis and he doesn’t think he’s seen him this stressed since… Well, since shit went down with his family and… yeah. Shiro’s been to the hospital one too many times. Keith can’t dump another hospital visit on top of him now, especially not after something as stupid as Keith dissociating to the level of slipping down the stairs.

His parents--

“Keith?”

He stays quiet for another second, mulling it over. Then, eventually, he opens his mouth.

“No.”

Though, as the words leave his mouth, he realizes it may not be the right thing to say. At least, the way the guy’s face scrunches is so unnerving that Keith finds himself struggling to find an explanation, “I mean, uh… I can go alone. I don’t mind.”

He’s momentarily distracted when the guy closes his eyes. If possible his frown deepens even further like he’s in deep thought. 

It… Doesn’t look natural on him. Like, at all. Keith almost feels a similar frown tugging at the corner of his mouth and- 

“Lance?”

Keith is startled by another voice joining in, but even more so when the guy’s (Lance’s?) eyes flash open once again. For a moment his gaze just flits from one place to another, unsure of where to rest.

When he speaks again, Keith has to strain to hear what he’s saying.

“Someone has to…”

He’s not entirely sure if he’s speaking to his friend or Keith. He’s not sure if he meant to say it out loud either, judging by the distracted frown etched onto his brows and the far-off glaze his eyes has gotten. Even his voice sounds hesitant, as if he’s waiting for someone to object. Then, finally, he seems to have made up his mind, and his gaze seeks Keith. 

Keith’s breath gets stuck on the way out.

And then, because life has a way of timing things just right, he recognizes the sirens in the far-off distance, nearing them by every second. Nuances of blue and red is cast across their surroundings, painting Lance’s face in stark contrasts. Keith blinks rapidly, trying to get a grip on himself as the disorienting lights cloud his senses. Neat.

By the time the medics reach him, Keith is already drifting off again. He barely registers the chatter happening around him, most likely the medics asking everyone about everything. Instead, he tunes in on the slight raspy voice above him as he recounts the event, sending the smallest of vibrations down to his head as if he was lying on his chest rather than his lap. It’s… oddly comforting. 

After that he mostly remembers things in flashes - strangers meeting his gaze and trying to get through to him, asking him several questions he barely remembers, hands holding him steady as he’s carried to the ambulance and a soft hand squeezing his in comfort.

 

• • •

 

Keith ends up staying the night at the hospital. Every now and then he’s woken up for a check-up where he answers a round of questions ‘for safety measures’. Honestly, it feels more like a punishment for his stupidity and what he’s put all of them through. He tries to come up with anything that might’ve led to this in order to rebalance karma, but in the end he comes up blank. 

Because, apparently, life just suck sometimes.

“Great, you’re awake!”

_Speaking of._

Keith savours the moment by letting his eyes rest for at least three seconds before he gives in, turning his head to look towards the nurse standing by the end of his bed. The movement is made awkward by the cervical collar keeping his head in check.

He knows, technically, that he shouldn’t be annoyed at her personally, since she’s just doing her job. But it’s definitely easier to project his frustration onto her when she’s the one who’s been checking on him six out of the eighteen hours he’s spent here. At least he has the small comfort of knowing that she must be exhausted too, judging by the dark circles underlining her eyes. 

“We’re just gonna run some tests on you before we let you off the hook,” She continues, walking up to his bedside. She’s got a casual smile plastered on her face and a stance that’s supposed to make him believe that she’s on the same wavelength as him. “Sounds good?”

He grunts noncommittally in response. It seems to do the job.

He tries not to flinch when the flashlight hits his eyes, checking his sight’s reflexes. Tries to respond to the nurse’s questions as well as recollect yesterday and what happened up to the incident. Tries to guide her through his qualms as her fingers trace different spots on his head, asking “Does this hurt?” and “Can you feel this?”

By the time they’re done, Keith is sitting on top of his bed with newly-applied bandages and his clothes folded neatly in his lap. He’s relieved to find that it isn’t as uncomfortable to sit up as he’d expected it to be.

“From what we’ve gathered you most likely have a concussion, but luckily it doesn’t seem like it’s anything severe. You have some slight strain on your neck as well, but there’s no fracture of your skull or any of your bones.”

He’s not entirely sure if what the hospital categorizes as ‘nothing severe’ is something he should be too optimistic about just yet. He doesn’t object, though, just straightens his back as he waits for her to continue.

“You should be able to take care of yourself from now on, but you probably want to take it slow,” she tells him as he gets up, taking a step away as if to respect his privacy.

He listens carefully as she instructs him in the basics of recovery: Sleep, refrain from all electronics, books, and activities that takes energy or concentration. He’s supposed to wear his neck brace for another week or two before he’s allowed to take it off, and the neck brace itself needs cleansing every day (and this should be done separately from his own hygiejne routine - not all birds can be hit with the same stone). Last of all he’s scheduled for another visit in a month for check-up and to see if there’s any permanent damages.

“It might take longer than suspected,” she informs Keith, as if that’ll help his nerves in any kind of way, “Recovery is different from patient to patient. It’d probably be best if you have someone to check up on you now and then, too.”

“Right,” He says, slowly becoming aware of the lingering soreness present in all of his body. Remembers something off-handedly said about his body taking most of the fall.

He thinks she’s done after that, so he’s about to turn around to collect his clothes when she speaks up again.

“Perhaps you could ask your friend to stop by and make sure you’re doing okay?”

Keith stalls and blinks at the nurse.

“My… friend?” 

What friend could they possibly mean? Did they call Shiro? Is he here? 

Oh shit. He really hopes they didn’t call him.

“Yeah, from yesterday,” she says, apparently nonplussed by his aggravation. “He seems like a nice guy. Waited three hours before we had to turn him away. He’s very charming, entertained some of the elders and half of our staff while he waited for report.”

“I…” Keith grimaces, not the least reassured by her description. He looks at her with what he hopes isn’t too much desperation for an answer.

She seems to get what he’s trying to convey because she soon starts elaborating further. “Short, brown hair? Blue eyes?”

Oh. 

_Oh._

He’s embarrassed by how little it takes to remember him.

“I mean,” he starts hesitantly, scratching his nape of neck where hair meets neck brace, “He’s not my friend. He… just helped, I guess.”

“Uh-huh,” the nurse hums in response, neither dismissing nor encouraging him to continue. It’s hard to say whether she believes him or not.

Then, as if sensing his discomfort, she changes the subject. 

“Well, alright then. I’ll let you have some privacy and then we can be done with the paperwork, okay?”

Keith hums in reply, gathering the bundle of clothes in his arms as the nurse leaves his bedside.

 

He’s got his backpack slung over one shoulder, his steps stiff and awkward from his adjustment to his neck brace when he sees him. He’s standing by the reception desk, chatting idly with the receptionist who only seems to be half listening. Then, as if sensing his presence, the guy from yesterday looks up and away from the receptionist, immediately locking eyes with him.

“Keith!” he exclaims, immediately trudging towards him as if they’ve known each other for months, “You’re up!”

Keith opens his mouth, then closes it, his mind blanking.

“Hey, uh…” he says, blinking rapidly as he fights to remember his name. As he watches him expectantly. 

He’s sure he remembers, it’s just… blurry.

The smile he receives is one of understanding, and the guy shrugs nonchalantly.

“Lance,” he answers, apparently nonplussed by Keith’s lacking memory.

“Right,” Keith says, relieved that he doesn’t seem too put out about it. He repeats the name in his head just to make sure he remembers it this time. _Lance._

He’s acutely reminded of yesterday’s incident and the drama he put him through and… well, Keith should probably say something. Fights with the right phrasing as he picks at his gloves.

“Uh… thank you, by the way,” he says, clearing his throat. “For yesterday. And, uhm… what you did.”

For a second Lance’s mouth twitches as if he’s weighing several things to say at once. Then, finally settling on something to say, he replies,

“Nah, dude, it’s fine.” He holds a finger up when Keith opens his mouth, already sensing his upcoming objection, “Just did what anyone else would have done.”

Keith wants to protest because _no,_ not everyone would have, but there’s something about the way he says it that reveals a certain stubbornness. And right now, despite how much he wants to prove him wrong, he lacks the energy to do so.

For a moment none of them speak, as if neither of them really knows what to do with themselves now that the obvious has been stated. It leaves a somewhat awkward tension between the two of them, and Keith finds himself shifting his gaze away briefly, checking their surroundings so as to keep himself occupied. 

Around them, people murmur softly into their phones or to each other, their feet tripping anxiously as they every now and then glance at the clock. A few of the nurses have gathered in one of the corners to grab some of the coffee that’s put forth for the waiting patients, chatting among themselves as they sneak glances at the people entering and leaving the building. The sound of wheels screech against the marble floor as a cart full of tools is pushed through the lobby and into one of the corridors on the first floor.

He clears his throat audibly, trying to meet Lance’s gaze once again without straining his neck uncomfortably against the neck brace. “So-- what are you doing here?”

Now it’s Lance’s turn to be quiet, struggling for a moment to find the right words.

“Uh, just came by to check up on you, you know…” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as his voice fades out in hesitancy, “Heard they were gonna let you out this morning, so… yeah.”

Keith tries to shrug in reply and only manages half-heartedly. Lance averts his gaze for another moment, and for just a split of a second he gets the slight impression that he’s… embarrassed?

However, before he has the chance to linger on said thought, Lance charges on.

“Anyway,” he says, stuffing his hands into the front of his pockets, “Need a ride?”

He’s a little thrown off by the change of subject, reliving yesterday’s whiplash as he tries to comprehend his question.

In the end, though, he goes for another shrug.

“I guess.”

The smile he gets in return is somewhat subdued, but he still notices the sombre relief present as he turns around and leads him towards the exit.

“Allllright! Follow me.”

Lance only stops once as he realizes that Keith has trouble keeping up with him. He offers to carry his bag and Keith, for once letting his self-pity win over pride, lets him. The wind has picked up since yesterday, pushing his bangs away from his face and revealing the bandage wrapped around his forehead. Lance spares it one glance before continuing onward, engaging Keith in chatter that’s open-ended in case he wants to join in.

The car they arrive at looks like it’s older than the two of them combined, an old toyota with dented sides and rusty exterior from years exposed to ol’ Cali’s weather. 

And… see, normally Keith doesn’t mind old machinery. He remembers early days of watching his father repair bikes, cars and what-not. But… this. This would be charming, he _guesses,_ if it wasn’t for the fact that it looks like it’s one hit away from collapse.

He must eye it skeptically, because the huff that comes from his left side sounds as if it’s an expected reaction.

“Don’t worry,” Lance says, opening the passenger side for him once his bag is dropped into the trunk of the car, “It’s safer than it looks.”

He’s not entirely sure if he trusts him, but at this point it’s too late to back out. With some reluctance he steps inside the car, where he’s welcomed with-

“Did you bring coffee?” he asks incredulously, taking an extra whiff of the air. Yeah, definitely the smell of coffee.

“Oh, right!” Lance says, hastily dropping into the front seat next to him. He turns around in his seat, his side suddenly pressed up against Keith’s shoulder as he rummages in the back. He retreats soon after with an _‘ah!’_ carrying simultaneously a paper bag and a tray with two cups. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t drop any of the things on his way back.

Keith grabs a cup and paper bag when he’s offered one, opening the bag with one precarious hand to take a peek inside.

“I had some extra time on my hands, so I decided to grab some breakfast,” Lance explains as Keith pulls a croissant out of the bag, “Wasn’t sure how you like your coffee, though, so there’s extra milk in the bag if you want.”

Keith stares. Tries to process the fact that Lance actually brought him breakfast.

“Black’s fine,” he answers dumbfoundedly, fumbling with the bag for a moment before he slowly takes his first bite. There’s chocolate in the middle, melting against Keith’s tongue. It takes effort not to sigh too loudly from the lingering taste.

“Noted,” Lance remarks, a smile tugging in the corner of his lips as he regards Keith. Then, as if that’s all it took, he finally moves to fasten his seatbelt. Keith raises an eyebrow questioningly but decides deliberately against his curiosity.

It takes a few tries, but eventually the engine starts roaring underneath them as Lance turns the key. Immediately, loud pop pours out of the speakers, and Keith almost spills his coffee from the sudden change of volume.

“Sorry,” Lance half shouts, quickly turning the audio down until it’s barely a buzz against the roaring engine.

“S’ fine,” Keith assures him, albeit his grip on the cup tightens slightly afterwards.

 

The car drives as well as it looks. Keith has to systematically drink his coffee everytime they’re on even ground or else he risks spilling it all over his lap. Lance, however, seems to have no trouble when it comes to drinking, driving and talking, which is usually done simultaneously. He does spare him a guilty glance, though, when he chokes on his coffee a second time.

“How’re you holding up?”

It takes a while for Keith to realize that the question is directed at him (which in all honesty is kind of stupid, since, y’know, he’s the only one inside the car besides Lance). He gathers himself, clears his throat before answering.

“Never been better.”

“Ha,” Lance answers dryly as he turns the steering wheel, his coffee settled securely in his lap. “Nice one.”

He’s quiet as the car straightens, and for a moment the only sound present besides the engine is the rustling sound of Lance rummaging in the paper bag. Then, a satisfied hum when his hand finally retreats with another croissant.

Keith doesn’t realize he’s been staring until Lance turns toward him, croissant in mouth.

“So I’ve done some research…”

“Wait,” Keith interrupts, a poised eyebrow at the ready when Lance briefly meets his gaze, “You’ve done research?”

For a second Lance is completely still, his tapping against the steering wheel missing a beat where it usually hits. Then,

“I’ve done some research,” he charges on, deliberately ignoring Keith’s inquiry, “ _And_ apparently it’s hard to say when you’ll be fully recovered. Could be a week. Could be months or even years.”

Keith remembers the exact same words directed at him barely an hour ago. The notion has an uncomfortable restlessness settle in his bones.

“Is there a reason why you’re telling me this?” he cuts in, trying not to sound as frustrated as he feels. The way the paperbag scrunches when he balls his hand into a fist is telling, though.

“Because… Y’know,” Lance starts, shifting his hand that’s holding the croissant in what’s probably supposed to look nonchalant, but instead sends breadcrumbs flying everywhere, “I figured it’d be a problem with school and everything. But, I mean, if you want me to, I could take notes for you in English literature and calculus. And my friend Hunk - he’s… you two have chemistry together - I could probably ask him to take notes for you as well.”

Keith feels his eyebrows raise further, somewhat overwhelmed by Lance’s rambling. It takes effort to finally gather himself enough to ask his next question, albeit this one is much more incredulous.

“How… How do you know my classes?”

It’s a confused glance he gets in return, as if the answer is obvious.

“We have classes together?” Lance says in return, his head cocked slightly to the side even though his eyes are set on the road.

“Oh.” _Fuck._ “We do?”

Lance shrugs, takes another bite of his croissant.

“I mean… there’s a lot of students in our classes, so I guess it makes sense you don’t remember. But… yeah, we do.”

“Huh,” is all Keith manages to say.

It’s not that Keith has any trouble in college. It’s just-- honestly, the thought hadn’t even occurred to him until this moment. It wouldn’t be so devastating should he get behind. But even then - the fact that Lance has volunteered - it’d definitely be a big help.

“Thank you,” he adds as an afterthought.

The notion has a smile tugging at the corner of Lance’s lips.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies, both hands on the steering wheel now that his croissant is eaten.

Even though he feels compelled to object against this, Keith decides against his initial want and succumbs to silence.

 

Keith is just about to drift off when the car is brought to a halt. When he blinks his eyes open, he’s met by Lance’s easygoing grin.

“Getting tired, huh?”

“Mmhmm,” he hums in reply, fighting against the droopiness of his eyelids. It’s infinitely harder with the dullness that’s still present in his head. Settling for squinted eyes, he works on his seatbelt, his hand searching as he feels it--

The sound of rustling as he knocks the paper bag he’s had lying in his lap over.

He hears the huff of Lance’s laughter as he sighs audibly in frustration, already bending forward to retrieve the dropped bag.

There are beadcrumbs all over the front seats, and he’s fairly certain that the stain on his seat is from spilled coffee. Lance hasn’t said anything about it, though, so he decides not to mention it. Saves it for later, maybe, if he feels too guilty about it.

His neck brace doesn’t really help him maneuver the footwell either, making his movements stiff and awkward as he reaches for the bag. It takes a couple of times before he finally manages to grab it, and with a grunt he straightens and--

Oh _fuck._ Mistake.

His head won’t. Stop. Spinning.

“Keith?”

A gentle hand squeezing his shoulder. Lance’s face closer than anticipated when Keith finally regains his bearings.

“I’m fine.”

His response comes out harsher than intended, and he can’t help but wince from the undertones present.

For a moment Lance is silent, his gaze penetrating as if he’s trying to calculate how he’s really feeling. Probably wondering how far he’s allowed to go and whether it’s worth the fight. Then, defeatedly, he retracts his hand from Keith’s shoulder.

“Alright then,” he says, his gaze not without sympathy as he unfastens his seatbelt. It takes him less than a minute before he’s stepping out of the car, waiting patiently for Keith to get out on the other side, “Let’s get you somewhere quiet so you can get some rest.”

It’s with difficulty that he pushes himself out of the car, and when he plants both of his feet on the ground he has to hold on to the roof to fight the slight dizziness hitting him.

And _okay--_ this concussion thing may need a bit of getting used to. At least if Keith is planning on not making a fool of himself, which… he very much intends to avoid.

He takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes as he tries to yield patience, waiting for his dizziness to subside. 

He can do this. 

Slowly, he takes the first tentative steps towards the trunk of the car.

He thinks he does an okay job disguising his dizziness, but then he feels Lance’s worried gaze follow him as he fights with the trunk in his fervor to get his bag. It’s when he starts rounding the car that Keith feels himself tense, nerves already spiking in taunt anticipation when he stalks towards him, a hand reaching towards him-

“Hey man, I’ve already got your bag. It’s okay.” 

Lance squeezes his shoulder once. Just once. Then he lets go.

And just like that the tension eases from his shoulders. 

“Oh.” _Oh._ “Right. Thanks.”

Keith can’t even bring himself to object from the sheer relief. And then, a lingering embarrassment from the mere thought that Keith had _expected-_

Well.

It’s not that he’s uncomfortable around Lance. Or entirely opposed to the idea of getting help (except maybe he is). It’s just… not something he’s used to. Being in someone’s near vicinity, that is. He’s not entirely sure how he’ll react, should Lance get too close, and for now he doesn’t really wanna know. He’d probably just make a fool out of himself. Or puke. Maybe both. 

As he follows Lance to the entrance of the door, each step has the insides of his head throbbing painfully. He pushes himself to take each step, struggles through his sore muscles with gritted teeth and ignores the worried frown Lance sends his way as he walks through the door that’s held open for him.

He’s vaguely aware of the time that passes as they walk down hallways towards his room. Vaguely aware of Lance keeping the conversation going as well as the distance between them that’s just so palpable that it wouldn’t be subtle if their hands brushed. Vaguely aware of the fact that their hands still manages to do just that, and that he might be the cause behind this. 

As they near their destination, he pushes on relentlessly, instincts rather than consciousness bringing him to the front of his door. He barely registers the state his room is in from the relief of being back, just kicks his shoes off and dumps his jacket on the floor before dragging his feet towards his bed.

He has to physically restrain himself from collapsing headfirst into his bed. Instead, it’s an awkward progression where he has to sit precariously on his bed, tipping back over without hitting his head too harshly against the mattress (or wall for that matter). 

He’s just about forgotten the other presence in his room when Lance peeks in, bag in hand.

“Should I just-- oh.”

Lance watches him from his position by the entrance, eyebrows drawn together as Keith struggles with his blanket. It must be painful to watch him trying to maneuver his body around, several emotions passing across his face as if he’s debating whether or not to intervene.

Then, finally, he caves in.

The exhale that escapes Lance’s nose sounds more like a sigh than anything, and barely a second later he’s standing beside the bed, moving Keith gently out of the way before grabbing his blanket. In one smooth movement the blanket has been swept over Keith, covering him from his shoulders down.

There is an embarrassingly long second where Keith expects him to tuck him in or even sweep his bangs aside. He doesn’t acknowledge it, rather buries said thought deep down the moment he realizes what he’s thinking. He’s fairly certain the damage is already done, though, judging by the heat he feels blossoming on his cheeks. Lance, however, doesn’t seem to notice… or maybe he’s just kind enough not to comment on it.

Keith hopes it’s not the latter.

“Anything else you need?” Lance asks, straightening his back now that his work’s done, “Some water? Food?”

Keith waits for a moment, mulling his thoughts over.

“I think I’m good.”

“Alright! I’ve still got…” Lance shuffles for a moment as he struggles to find his phone. The moment the phone lights up its display, his smile is replaced with a frown. “Ah, shoot. I was supposed to be in class five minutes ago. Guess I have to go, then.”

Before Lance has the chance to leave, though, Keith stops him.

“Wait-,” he calls as he reaches towards him, almost sitting up in the process (which he _really_ has to stop doing if he wants to avoid the dizziness). For a second he forgets his words, astonished by the intensity of Lance’s gaze. Eventually, though, he finally manages, “Thank you. Really.”

Lance lingers in the doorway, contemplating his response. Instead of answering, though, he just gets a finger gun sent his way. Then he’s out of the door.

Keith watches the door for another minute as he tries to comprehend what just happened.

Then, finally, he collapses onto his back with a grunt, staring up at the ceiling. Suddenly a lot more awake now than he was barely ten minutes ago.

_Christ._

 

There are some things that Keith doesn’t know, but this he knows for sure-

He is utterly fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (taps mic) Is this still on?
> 
>  
> 
> Kldfnakl we're so sorry guys! Life's been a blur the past few months and we've been super busy with other wips and school! But we figured we should probably post something soon, so we kicked our butts and managed to finish this chapter. Hopefully next update won't take as long. OTL
> 
> Shoutout to Becks for beta-reading our fic (also sorry for leaving such a mess ♥ we love you)
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as we enjoyed writing it!!

Keith looks like shit.

Mind you - when he says he looks like shit, it’s not in a self-deprecating way or a stunt to seek sympathy or approval. Objectively speaking, after a knockout that involves him kissing the curb and a headache that’ll probably last for another two weeks, he looks like utter shit.

His hair is unkempt and looks like it hasn’t seen clean water since 2001. He’s still wearing the clothes from the incident, which is now not only rumpled from sleep, but also stained by what he _thinks_ is coffee (but what is most likely drool, judging by the wet spot on his shoulder). Underneath said clothes, the first signs of bruises are starting to form on his body - he has an especially nasty one on his right shoulder. How he didn’t manage to dislocate anything is still beyond his imagination. He didn’t think it’d be possible for your neck to sweat after a good few hours of sleep, yet lo and behold - here he is, the padded material on his neck brace rubbing uncomfortably against his clammy skin.

But - most obvious - is his face. He’s got two black marks underlining his eyes as if he hasn’t slept in years, and when he goes to clean his bandages he has the great pleasure of seeing the damage the front of his head has taken. Fucking _marvelous._

Honestly, he doesn’t only _look_ like shit - he feels like shit too. The last day (days?) has been a blur. He’s been in a state in-between asleep and awake for what feels like an eternity, drifting between his bed, kitchen, and toilet. He’s not even sure if he’s disoriented because of the amount of sleep he’s gotten the past day or the concussion. Probably a mix of both, he figures.

There is a faint lingering ache when he takes his neck brace off, like when you’ve grown accustomed to a weight and suddenly wake up to find yourself without it. It’s quickly forgotten against the therapeutic drum of water pattering against his skull once he’s turned the shower on, though.

He stands in there for what feels like five minutes but is more likely half an hour, thoughts and worries forgotten for the moment. Then, as wet feet meet cold tiles, head still pounding fervorously, he has to face reality again.

The cleansing of his neck brace almost takes as long as his shower as he struggles to find out how to detach and reattach the specific parts. The water that’s dripping down from his hair has gone cold once it’s clasped around his neck.

_Ah._ There’s something to be said about clothes made for sleep. His pyjamas feels infinitely softer than his disheveled clothes.

He’s reached the point where the pounding in his skull is too overwhelming, so he opts to retreat to his bed. He slowly exhales as he eases himself onto his left side, the mattress creaking against his weight.

He’s barely gotten comfortable before his phone lights up from his bedside table, his screen displaying a photo of Shiro. He’s tempted to answer the call, but exhaustion and rationality keeps him from doing it. Instead, he lays his head back down onto the pillow with a defeated sigh as his phone goes on voicemail. He can’t help but feel guilty for doing so.

He’ll call him back later. He just needs to take it slow, get a grip on himself first.

Then he’ll tell him.

It’s just--

_Urgh._

He’s so tired of sleeping. Tired of being in this limbo stage where he has no idea what’s going on around him. But as much as Keith doesn’t want to sleep, he can’t think of much else to do. It’s just his luck that when he finally has all the time in the world, there is literally nothing he’s allowed to do. No phone. No TV. No books. In that sense his options are rather limited.

Most of all he’s bored out of his mind. He’s even reached the point where he’d rather be at lectures, which… is pretty wild given it hasn’t even been 48 hours since the accident (at least he doesn’t _think_ it’s been 48 hours) (how long has it been anyway?).

So he tries to kill time. Stares at the ceiling. Fights the urge to check his phone that lies innocently on the bedside table.

Stares some more at the ceiling.

Feels just the tiniest bit sorry for himself that he has to go through this.

Then, slightly pathetic for thinking so.

And… well. Technically speaking, he _could_ check his phone. There’s no one here to stop him from doing so.

Just a sneak-peak. Maybe if he closes one eye, it’ll be half the damage. In fact, it’d be much more like not-looking than _actually_ looking. Which, uh--

…

Keith blinks.

Where was he going with this again?

_Right._

Wrecking his head around finding a loophole is probably a lot more damaging than a sneak peak.

Which means…

Keith’s just a second away from giving in when he hears a sound knock on his door. He’s barely got time to register it before the door’s opened by itself, followed by-

“Hey!” Lance half shouts into the bedroom, sticking his hand through the open door to wave at Keith, “I brought lunch!”

He’s wearing one too many layers, half buried in his coat, scarf and a hat tugged down way below his ears. When he tugs it off with his free hand, his hair stands in all directions.

Keith opens his mouth. Closes it as he tries to process what is happening because-

_What?_ How?

Did he not lock his door? Has it been unlocked this whole time?

And, most importantly…

“You, uh…” Keith can literally feel how his face scrunches up in confusion as Lance closes the door behind him. He sits up in his bed slowly, rubbing at his nose. “You’re back?”

He doesn’t mean to sound so confused, but… he is.

“Yup!” Lance answers as he tries to shrug out of his jacket in one motion while still holding onto his bags. “Figured you’d be hungry, so.”

There’s a _thump_ as his bag drops to the floor that makes Keith wince. Lance glances at it for a second before deeming it safe, shrugging mostly to himself as he starts unwinding his scarf.

And while it doesn’t really answer the unasked _why_ , he realizes that _yes_ , he _is_ hungry.

“That’s considerate,” he manages to say as Lance makes his way inside, casually dropping into the desk chair beside the bed as if he’s been here a million times before. He offers him a bag soon after, and Keith hesitantly takes it, trying not to look as baffled as he feels.

Lance shrugs noncommittally before busying himself with his own bag. Then, finally, “I mean, ‘just doing what I can.”

Keith wrinkles his nose.

It’s not that he doesn’t understand what Lance is saying. It’s just… there’s something about the way he says it that feels off. Something he doesn’t quite get. Because along those lines, he can’t help but wonder _why_ Lance feels like it’s _his_ job to make sure he gets something to eat. His words are probably meant in good nature, but Keith can’t help the sour feeling lurking in the pit of his stomach. Can’t help but feel like he’s a burden.

Lance, however, doesn’t linger on that note. Rather, he charges on,

“Besides, Hunk kept chiding about how you needed to eat properly, so…” He shrugs again.

“Hunk?” he inquires when Lance doesn’t offer an explanation, eyebrow rising in question.

“Yeah, Hunk,” he replies, a small smile on his lips as he elaborates, “One of my friends. He was there, too, y’know. Helped with the ambulance.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate further for Keith to understand. Rather, there’s a hesitant silence that follows afterwards, like he’s unsure of whether it’s okay to mention the crash. He physically shrugs it off, answers by not answering as he fishes his lunch out of the bag.

To be honest, the sandwich looks… bland. Sort of like the way too dry ham and cheese sandwiches you get at tank stations.

“Did you make this?” Keith tries to sound nonchalant, he really does. But his face must give something away, because the smile that catches Lance’s lips is somewhat amused.

“No way,” he says, and he actually sounds _apologetic_ as if he was supposed to take time out for Keith like this, “I mean, I wanted to, but I was kinda in a hurry, so I bought something in the cantine. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want-”

“It’s fine,” Keith gets to him first before he can manage to finish, taking his first tentative bite. The following crunch could either be from the bread or his teeth. He hopes it’s not the latter.

The sandwich Lance is holding doesn’t look like too much either, and the displeased look that crosses his face when he takes his first bite is probably mirrored on Keith himself.

For a moment none of them speak as they eat, the silence only broken by the sound of the dry bread crunching in-between bites. It’s obscenely loud to Keith’s ears, but he still fights his way through his third bite.

Lance, however, isn’t doing so well.

“Man,” Lance manages to say through his stuffed face, a half-choked laugh shaking his shoulders, “This is awful.”

Keith frowns as he tries to chew his sandwich.

“It’s not…” Keith begins before cutting himself off, since-- well, since there’s nothing good to say about the sandwich. Instead he gives in, shaking his head, “You know what? You’re right. This sucks.”

The response has Lance thrown into a fit of laughter, mouth still stuffed with crusty sandwich. He covers his mouth as he goes into a fit of coughs, and it’s not until he lets go of his sandwich to thump his chest that he manages to catch himself.

“Wow. Okay,” he says, reaching for Keith’s sandwich, “I’ll make us something else. One sec.”

Keith probably drops his sandwich a second too early, shocked when their hands touch. Lance manages to catch it in time, though, and it is quickly followed by a _whoops_ shared between the two of them.

“You sure?” Keith interjects once he recollects himself, “We can just-”

“I got this, man,” Lance interrupts, already pushing himself off the chair, but not without sending him a finger gun with his free hand. “Don’t worry.”

The two sandwiches are dropped into his trash can before Keith has the chance to object. Lance doesn’t spare them a second glance, just goes straight towards his kitchen with a newly awoken resolution.

“Now let’s have a look…” Lance says mostly to himself, peeking inside his fridge. He hums with something that sounds like neither approval nor dismissal, but he’s empty handed by the time he closes it. Next stop is his cabinets, which he goes through systematically one by one. Keith waits patiently until finally-

“Keith.” Lance not so much says it as he states it.

“What?” he says, trying to sound indifferent even though he knows exactly what’s coming.

Instead of answering, Lance opens the cabinet even further. Revealing the neatly packed instant noodles that he and Shiro bought during a stressful exam period.

“ _Why._ ”

“It’s for _emergencies,_ ” he relents, crossing his arms with what he hopes doesn’t come across as childish stubbornness. He doesn’t mean to sound so defensive, neither does he mean to pout.

When Lance continues to look unimpressed, he adds sourly, “They were on sale.”

“Uh-huh,” he answers, his face not even flinching as he nods mockingly.

“ _Emergencies,_ ” Keith repeats, for some reason thinking it will save his dignity if he keeps stressing it.

For a moment Lance’s face is still blank. Then, as something crosses his mind, his eyes light up in inspiration.

“Well…” he drawls as he leans on the kitchen counter in a thoughtful manner, “I guess this _does_ count as an emergency.”

Keith lifts his eyebrow in a silent question. Lance, in response, gathers two bags from his cabinet before slamming it closed.

“Noodles will have to do.”

And - just because he still feels slightly insulted by Lance’s comment barely five minutes ago - he finds himself straightening his back, ready to fire back.

“What happened to ‘eating properly’?” Keith remarks, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips from the look he gets sent his way.

“Oh shut it.” Lance waves off-handedly, but even he is starting to huff with laughter as he drops the bags onto the counter, already reaching for the kettle. “What Hunk doesn’t know, won’t hurt.”

The grin he sends Keith is like an instant shot of endorphins. It’s contagious, a similar smile already finding his lips as he shakes his head in silent laughter.

It’s not until Lance turns his back on him that he realizes that his cheeks are aching from still smiling.

 

“So,” Lance says once the water in the kettle has boiled and two steaming cups of noodles have been carefully placed by Keith’s bedside table. He’s looking way too smug as he eases himself into the chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Keith the Noodle Hoarder, huh?”

“You’re unbelievable,” he retorts immediately, but there’s no bite to it.

A surprised laugh escapes Lance’s mouth, but other than that he lets Keith be. Hums a pleased note as he takes his first sip of the soup.

The noodle soup is… well. It’s better than the sandwich, that’s for sure. Keith savors the warmth that lingers in his hands when he holds it up.

When he looks up from his soup, he’s met by Lance’s gaze, a finger poking his cheek in contemplation.

“Real talk though… how’s your head?”

He silently twirls the noodles in his cup in thought.

“Right now, or…?”

Lance just shrugs, and Keith is surprised by how comforting the gesture is. Either way, he takes it as his cue to continue.

“I mean… It’s not that bad right now,” he starts slowly, uncertain as he tries to make sense of his thoughts. “But it’s definitely there. It comes and goes-- like one moment I’m completely fine, the next it’s… really bad.”

Lance purses his lips, head slightly tilted as he asks, “How so?”

“It’s… there’s not much I can do about it, to be honest. Mostly I’m just tired.” Just stating it out loud reminds him of the exhaustion wearing him down. As if acknowledging his troubles only heightens their presence.

“Oh,” Lance says, and Keith can literally hear the gears churning in his head as his gaze flits towards his pyjamas before landing on his face again, realization sinking in. _Right._ “Should I-- would you rather have I leave?”

The question catches him off guard even though it shouldn’t. Because really - it’s the obvious conclusion to draw; that Keith’s tiring himself out in Lance’s company and that it’d be better to leave him to sleep. To some extent it probably would be the best thing to do. But the thing is… there’s just _something_ about Lance. Something that makes Keith forget that it’s only the second time they’ve been hanging out while he’s been fully awake. Makes him forget the headache that’s been a nonstop presence since the incident. Something that, despite everything, makes Keith shake his head as he takes another mouthful of noodles.

“Mh-mh,” he says, trying to talk through a mouth full of noodles, “M’okay.”

And Lance, seemingly hesitant at first, decides to take his word for it.

For once, Keith lets go of the harboring guilt lurking in the back of his mind and just lets himself be content in Lance’s company. And then, only after Lance has left, does he realize that he hasn’t really thought much about his headache during his visit.

 

• • •

 

Despite Keith’s insistence on doing things himself, Lance makes it his mission to drop by every single day. To punctuate this, he drops by the day after at lunch, too, and he even finds time to check up on him in the evening, arguing that ‘someone needs to make sure that you eat’.

It would be all the more convincing weren’t it for the fact that he mostly just boils water for the noodles (a simple task even Keith could do despite his constant headache).

He still feels like a burden to Lance, but he has slowly given up on the fight against his help. After all, he’s just doing it to make him feel better. Which he _does,_ so he can’t really complain.

Mostly he just lets Keith rest, but once in a while he engages him in conversation, talking about his friends or the day’s classes. Although he’s reluctant to admit it, it’s nice to just listen to Lance’s voice. More often than not he finds himself spacing out in the middle of a conversation, his eyes lulling closed whenever his voice is especially hush, almost as if he’s lowering his voice in sync with Keith’s droopiness.

“I should probably let you sleep,” Lance says at some point when Keith’s been quiet for too long. “You’re not even listening.”

And it’s not that Keith isn’t _listening,_ it’s just… easier to latch onto the tone of his voice. Even if he ends up losing focus halfway most of the time.

But he insists. And, after some protest, Lance relents and goes back to talking.

Other than that, Keith just… sleeps. Mostly he doesn’t really have the energy for anything else. He has those few moments when he can’t sleep anymore where he just lies and stares up at the ceiling, too exhausted to even get out of bed or do anything productive. Then he has other times where he actually tries and ends up disoriented and feeling slightly worse for wear.

As the first few days passes, he likes to think that he’s starting to feel better. True, he may have slept fifteen hours the day before. Today, however, he’s managed to sit up in bed, his head only slightly groggy after spending the last few hours in a sleeping limbo. Being awake brings him back to his initial problem, though, which consists of having absolutely nothing to do.

Because Keith is nothing but reckless, he spends the first five minutes browsing messages on his phone. Most are from his classmates asking about his whereabouts. There’s also updates from Shiro and him asking about his well being - messages that are still left unanswered. He still hasn’t pulled himself together and told him about the accident. Probably should sometime soon.

His finger stalls when he notices another message in his inbox.

 

_Just received the bill from the hospital. I’ll talk to the insurance company and see what I can do._

_Love you,  
Mom_

 

He stares hard at the screen, a whirlwind of emotions unfurling in his stomach. Then, he turns his screen off and dumps his phone onto the table again, pulling the covers up around his ears until he’s succumbed in warmth.

He’s not entirely sure if the lingering stab in his chest comes from frustration or disappointment. Not entirely sure if it’s neither.

But then again, does it matter?

He’s so covered up in blankets that he almost doesn’t hear the faint knock on his door followed by the creaking sound of it opening. Almost.

Still. It’s way earlier than when Lance usually visits (not that he’s memorized his schedule) (okay, so maybe he has, but who can blame him? It’s not like he’s had much else to look forward to these past days). He shouldn’t be here before two hours or so. Which means--

“Keith?”

Oh.

“Shiro?” He tries not to move too fast as he kicks his blankets off of him, but his head definitely feels lighter when he sits up, facing a Shiro that’s busy shrugging his coat off.

“What’s up?” Shiro asks, struggling to find a place to hang his coat before draping it across the nearest chair, “You haven’t answered your-- _Jesus Christ._ ”

Shiro stalls, his eyes widening the moment he lays eyes on Keith. Lets the silence consume both of them as he takes Keith’s state in.

“Hi,” he says, trying not to sound as small as he feels.

His words seem to be enough to break Shiro out of his stupor.

“What _happened?_ ”

Keith can’t help but flinch.

“It’s, uh… It’s a long story.” Except it’s not. He rubs at his eye as he tries to phrase his fuzzy memories in a way that won’t seem too alarming. “I may have fallen down a couple of stairs.”

Shiro blinks, mouth opening and closing as he tries to comprehend what’s happened.

“ _May?_ ”

Keith scratches the collar of his neck brace self-consciously, deliberately averting the latter’s gaze.

“I may also have gotten a concussion.”

“ _Keith._ ” He stresses his name almost pleadingly, taking the first few steps towards where he’s sitting. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“S’ just…” he tries weakly, finally willing himself to meet Shiro’s eyes once he comes to stand in front of him. “Didn’t want to frighten you.”

Shiro’s mouth might be set in a firm line, but it’s a worried frown that’s etched onto his brow. He finds himself somewhat relieved, even though there’s still a lingering feeling of guilt from not telling him sooner.

“Honestly? This is much more frightening than a text would’ve been.” Then, thoughtfully, he crouches down until he’s Keith’s height, brushing his bangs aside to get a better look at the mess. “ _Jesus…_ ”

“I’m alright,” he objects, pushing Shiro’s hand aside with a touch of exasperation, “I was going to tell you.”

“Sure you were,” he answers, expression unimpressed. As if regaining his train of thoughts he shakes his head then, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “But really, you need to tell me this kind of stuff. You can’t just take care of yourself all the time.”

An immediate image of Lance pops into his mind. He has to physically restrain himself from shaking his head.

“I know,” he says defeatedly, bringing two hands onto his shoulders so as to reassure Shiro. “I’ll try to next time.”

It seems to calm him down. A peaceful silence settles over the room as Shiro continues to study his forehead.

When he speaks up, his voice is almost contemplative, the hint of a smile forming on his lips.

“Look at you, huh. You look like a racoon that’s been dumpster diving.”

If Shiro didn’t smile before, he definitely does when he receives an exasperated huff in reply.

“Gee, thanks,” Keith answers dryly, which immediately prompts a laugh out of Shiro. He doesn’t object, though - he can only imagine what he must look like to him. At least he’s gotten somewhat used to the sight by now.

“I guess that explains what you’ve been up to.”

“You know me,” Keith says then, gesturing vaguely before leaning back into his bed once again. “‘Gotta keep you on your toes.”

The comment has Shiro shake his head in astonishment, surprised laughter plain on his face.

“Unbelievable,” he states, meeting Keith’s eyes, “You’re the reason why I’m greying.”

And just because he likes to embarrass him, Keith leans on to his side, a smug grin plastered on his face as he drawls, “Silverfox.”

The notion has Shiro look at him in immediate horror.

“Keith. _No._ ”

“Come on,” he plays along, only smiling wider from Shiro’s disturbed expression that’s gradually intensifying, “You asked for it.”

Shiro shakes his head curtly, something like disbelief painted on his face as if he still can’t believe what Keith just said.

“God, you’re awful.”

Keith shrugs - a motion that’s made difficult by his position and the neck brace that’s digging into his left cheek.

“You can’t take everything I say at face value,” he responds instead, pointing towards his injured head as if that holds all the answers he needs.

Shiro laughs, but the notion definitely tones the teasing down until he’s serious once again.

“Well, this definitely changed the initial plan,” he starts, scratching his neck awkwardly as if trying to put himself into Keith’s shoes. “Thought I was going to give you a talk on how to respond to your messages. I’d prepared a speech and everything.”

“Sorry,” Keith says. Despite the light-hearted banter he can’t disguise the honest guilt lurking behind the word.

“No.” Shiro frowns as he straightens himself. “Don’t apologize. Let me help you now that I’m here, yeah?”

At a loss for words, Keith simply nods.

 

As it is, there’s not much for Shiro to do. In the end he keeps Keith entertained as he cleans the apartment. At some point Shiro, upon laying eyes on the several bags of instant noodles lying in the trash can, chastises him for not taking care of his health. However, he doesn’t dive deeper into it. Just tells him to buy some real food next round. _Ever the mother hen._

He’s a little agitated when Keith tells him that the office still hasn’t been notified about his reason of absence, and takes it upon himself to remind him why he needs to keep him informed. Still, he promises to take care of it later.

As time passes, Keith finds his eyes drooping more and more until he’s only half aware of the sound of Shiro’s voice as he chats amiably. He’s not sure for how long he’s out, but once he opens his eyes again it’s to an empty room.

At least, that’s what he thinks at first.

Then, he notices the faint scent of instant noodles wafting from his kitchen.

“Oh!” he hears a familiar voice call, much closer than he expected. He jerks at the sound, the motion sending jolts of pain through the lower part of his head and neck. He barely has time to gather himself before Lance’s face pops into view. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“‘S fine,” he says out of reflex although his heart is still beating rapidly from the shock.

Shiro must have left at some point while he dozed off. He can’t help but feel a little disappointed, but then again--

Shiro has a lot of things to take care of. He’ll catch up with him later.

Besides, it’s not like he minds hanging out with Lance either. He just isn’t ready to deal with more than one person at a time right now.

It’s a fight to get up to a sitting position. It’s as if his body’s protesting against his every move. Still, it’s worth it when he’s rewarded with a cup of noodles once he’s up and sitting. He’s happy to find that it’s still warm, letting the heat spread from his fingers and through his body. The taste has become a little dull, granted, but it’s still a nice contrast to his sore, uncomfortable throat as he takes his first sip.

He’s barely started eating before Lance lapses into conversation.

“So,” he says, leaning closer to him, his head tilted in curiosity as he smiles at him, “Who’s that friend of yours?”

“Oh.” Keith blinks as he tries to connect the pieces. Then, hesitantly, as it dawns on him, “You… met Shiro?”

He honestly doesn’t know what to do with that information. Has difficulties imagining how such a meeting would have gone down. Lance seems chill about it, though, his eyes momentarily lightning up as if recognizing his name before he nods eagerly.

“Yeah. He had to leave, like, five minutes ago or so. Said something about your medical report.”

Keith hums in reply, too busy with another mouthful of noodles to say something coherent. Lance waits patiently for him to finish up.

“He…-- we’re really close,” he starts, keeping his eyes on the noodles cupped in his hands, “He’s a really good friend. He’s… someone very important to me.”

There’s something about the sincerity behind the words that makes him self-conscious. But Lance seems to understand, Keith realizes once he finally musters the courage to look up, nodding as a warm smile touches his face.

“I getcha,” he says, nudging his leg with his foot.

The touch sends a jolt of _something_ through Keith that makes him straighten his posture suddenly, the mattress bouncing underneath his weight. The sudden movement causes his head to protest just the slightest.

_Ah._ Seems like he still has to adjust to Lance’s casual touches.

If Lance notices, he doesn’t show.

“He seems nice,” he says then, his voice surprisingly soft in the quiet.

“Yeah,” Keith breathes, glancing at his now empty cup before meeting Lance’s eyes again. “He’s… a good friend. Like family.”

He doesn’t know why he repeats it. But Lance doesn’t seem to mind. Just nods encouragingly as he reaches his hand forward.

And--

Keith stares down at the hand. Wondering what he’s supposed to do with it.

Is he… is he supposed to--

“Your cup.”

Oh. _Oh._

He offers it without protest. Tries to ignore the lingering embarrassment burning in his cheeks.

He stays silent as Lance wanders over to do the dishes, listening to him humming a tune slightly off key.

“Hunk’s like family too,” Lance adds once he’s done cleaning the dishes, plopping down beside Keith now that he’s sitting up in the bed, “I mean, my family lives in the state, so it’s not like they’re too far away, y’know? But it’s still nice to have someone close when you miss home.”

It’s said carefully, his gaze purposefully not meeting his as if he’s testing the waters. As if he knows that it’s probably a touchy subject on Keith’s side.

“Yeah,” he says, an immediate image of his mom appearing behind his eyelids, “It is.”

There’s a silence following his words that isn’t necessarily tense. Lance sits for a moment, the gears churning visibly in his head as he works on how to phrase his next words.

“Your parents…” he asks hesitantly before stopping himself, his words instead hanging openly in the air like an unasked question.

It’s an easy question. At least it’s supposed to be. But there’s a certain heaviness behind the answer that leaves him uneasy.

It’s a question he’s been asked a lot of times before. It’s just… not a question he wants to answer. Because doing so brings emotional baggage to the surface that he’s not quite ready to share yet.

But Lance is looking at him patiently as he struggles. And so, despite everything, he feels encouraged to come with an answer.

“They’re--” he says, finally letting go of the breath he’s been holding. But still, he can’t seem to finish whatever he’d planned to say. It’s just-- they’re…

_Divorced,_ his mind helpfully supplies. He grimaces, and the movement makes his neck collar strain just the slightest.

“My mom works for the embassy in Seoul,” he goes with instead, shrugging half heartedly with his left shoulder.

“Seriously? That’s cool,” Lance says encouragingly, a genuine smile finding his lips once Keith opens up.

And, well… it _is,_ technically speaking. But. Keith’s past that. Past the excitement. Just feels the slight disappointment and confusion of his mother leaving him behind.

“Yeah,” he answers eventually, but his voice betrays his lack of enthusiasm. When words fail him, he shrugs again. “I guess.”

Lance’s mouth opens in understanding, a small _‘ah’_ escaping his lips as if he’s just realized his mistake.

“It’s--” Keith cuts in before Lance has the chance to answer, waving off whatever he’d planned to say. For a second he struggles with his words, opening and closing his mouth until he offers a weak “You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay.”

Lance hums in reply, for once out of words himself.

It leaves a stretching silence that Keith doesn’t know how to end.

For what is perhaps the first time, he feels truly awkward around Lance. Feels how little they actually know about one another.

He doesn’t know what to say to make Lance speak up again. Doesn’t know what to say to fix it.

Luckily, he doesn’t need to.

“It’s okay if you feel sad or angry about your mom. Even if you feel selfish about it too.”

When Keith looks up to find his gaze, it’s to realize that Lance is not looking at him but rather at his hands, fiddling nervously with them.

“I get it… even though I kinda don’t, y’know?” At this, he meets his gaze hesitantly. “I mean… you wish your mom the best, but still… it’s a shitty situation.”

“Yeah.” He not so much says it as he breathes it. Has to clear his throat because this conversation suddenly feels a lot more sensitive than he’d intended it to be. A soft smile reaches Lance’s lips

“Anyway,” he says, tone suddenly a lot lighter than barely a minute ago as he steers the conversation on, “I didn’t mean to get all sappy on you. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s… fine,” Keith answers, ‘cause he honestly doesn’t know what else to say.

It seems to do the trick, though - Lance pats his shoulder amiably, a motion that only has him wince from the flare of pain in his right shoulder.

“Shit,” Lance immediately responds, retracting his hand like it’d caught fire, “Sorry.”

And, despite everything, Keith finds himself laughing in return.

“It’s okay,” he eventually manages to say, and Lance’s shoulders immediately drop in relief.

The laughter that follows is hesitant, but not unpleasantly so. It’s private, the kind you share with people in grocery stores when you try to get past each other but keep blocking the other’s way.

Seems like they both still have a lot to learn about each other.

**Author's Note:**

> As already mentioned we're not sure when we'll post the next chapter, so please be patient!! With that being said, thank you for reading this!
> 
> For our NSA readers who jumped onto this fic as well - we're working on the sequel! It'll probably take a while, though, since we're still kinda unsure of how to approach it. Just know that we're plotting and like 99% sure of how Keith's POV unfolds throughout the story.
> 
> ALSO this would probably be a good time to say that none of us have ever had an actual concussion, so you're more than welcome to share your experiences - google can only get us so far (on a further note: Please don't use this fic as a guideline laknfakl we have no idea what we're doing).
> 
>  
> 
> -  
> As always, feel free to comment, like, or chat us up on our tumblr!  
> @ yaizzy [[HERE](http://yaizzy.tumblr.com/)]  
> @ birdiebluesblog [[HERE](http://birdiebluesblog.tumblr.com/)]  
> \- OR, y'know, you could just go to our shared-but-very-inactive blog @ musvitten [[HERE](http://musvitten.tumblr.com/)]


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